


Two for Joy

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-06
Updated: 2009-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:18:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/193910">Pining Away</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two for Joy

We've been on worse stakeouts. Far worse. It's not too cold or too hot. We aren't stuck in a miserable bedsit with roaches climbing the wall and a curious landlady sticking her nose through the door every five minutes.

It's spring, the flowers are blooming, and we're parked on a pleasant street in Kensington, watching the home of an MP suspected of spying for the other side. Or being stupid enough to let secret slip to the other side. Have met the Right Honourable in question, I'm betting on the latter. On a good day he's thick as two short planks.

I shift in the passenger seat and stick my trainers on the dashboard as yet another au pair pushes yet another pram past us.

"Oi, sunshine." Bodie gives me a sharp nudge with his elbow. "Mind me car." He looks significantly at my feet.

"Mind it yourself," I snort. "You've got chip wrappers from last week in the back seat."

Bodie glares and turns his attention back to the street. I breathe in deeply, the air fragrant with the scent of flowers and freshly mowed grass, before my eye is caught by a dark flash flying through the air. As I watch, a magpie flits about in a tree in the yard opposite.

 _One for sorrow_ , I think as the bird hops down a branch. Then _two for joy_ , as another magpie joins the first. And not before time. I could use more joy in my life just about now.

Not that it's a bad life. Not really. I've got work that's important, that I'm good at. A partner who's the best I could ask for.

Said partner shifts and sighs and grabs the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles whiten. The best partner, when he's not in a mood. And he's in a mood more often than not, these days.

"My turn to go for tea," I say, needing to break the silence that's settled between us. It's not our usual sort of silence, not the comfortable one I've been used to. There's a storm building in this silence, full of thunderclouds and lashing rain, and I've no idea why it's coming or when it will arrive.

"Mind you put enough milk in mine this time," Bodie says without even looking at me. Bastard. I'll make sure he has enough milk, all right.

I get out of the car and slam the door hard enough to irritate Bodie. I have to stop myself from giving the car a kick as well.

I walk to a bakery on the nearby high street and get the tea. Intentions to the contrary, I don't overdo the milk in Bodie's. There'd be no living with him at all if I did. I do spend the walk there and back wondering what's got into Bodie and why he's been in such a strop for so many days. I wonder if it's another Keith Williams situation, if he's going to go off the rails again. Or if he's just sick of me and gearing up to ask for another partner.

I can't breathe when that thought strikes me, the scent of flowers so cloying that I nearly sick up on the pavement. My life without Bodie? Intolerable. Unthinkable. And if he wants it, all too possible.

I'm in a mood myself by the time I get back to the car. I sling Bodie's tea at him, drink my own and toss the crumpled cup at my feet, ignoring Bodie's glare and his muttered comments about the deficits in my upbringing.

Neither of us says another word until Murph and Anson arrive to relieve us two hours later. It's not just a storm that's brewing between us now; it's a full blown hurricane. And I still have no idea why.

Bodie pulls in front of HQ, and I'm out of the door before he's even come to a stop. I head for my car with barely a backward glance, all too willing to let the bastard seethe. My tires squeal as I drive away, and I catch the merest glimpse of Bodie still sitting in his car, still parked where I left him.

I don't think about him for the next two hours.

I don't think about him while I sort my laundry and take it to the service. I don't think about him while I'm shopping at the local Tesco. I especially don't think about him when I open the bottle of scotch I picked up at the off license and pour myself a far too generous helping of the tawny liquid.

The fear hits when I take the second gulp of scotch.

What if Bodie wants more than a new partner? What if he wants a new life? What if he's quitting?

Christ.

I dump the rest of the scotch down the sink, the taste of it like bile in my throat. I sit at my kitchen table, picking at a knot in the wood with my fingernail, and trying to work out why I care so much about Bodie, why it should matter to me so much if he's moody, if he's stroppy, if he leaves.

I suddenly have to know what he's thinking. It doesn't matter that it's nearly 10, that I'll be seeing him tomorrow, that he was in a bastard of a mood all day. I have to see him _now_.

I'm half way to his flat before I think about what I'm doing. Before I consider what the fuck I'm going to say when I ring Bodie from his front step.

"Sorry, mate. Just wanted to make sure you're not leaving. I'll just check your bags aren't packed and then I'll nip back home." He'll think I've lost it.

Christ, I think I have lost it.

But it doesn't change how much I need to see him.

There's a place to park across from his flat, and I'm out with my finger on his bell before I can talk myself out of it.

"What?" If anything, he sounds moodier than he did all day.

"It's me."

"Doyle?"

"Yeah. Look, let me in, would you? We need to talk." Well, _I_ need to talk, though I've still no idea what I need to talk about.

The door buzzes and I throw it open and run up the stairs, doing the four flights as if they were nothing. Bodie stands at his door, arms crossed, a foul expression on his face.

I'm not doing this, whatever "this" is, in his hall. I push him through the door and slam it behind me.

"Doyle." His voice is all outrage and anger. "What the hell-"

I don't give him a chance to continue, because it's like being on a major op where the action starts and my mind clears and suddenly I know. I know why I'm here. I know what I have to do. I know why Bodie's been in a strop. I know everything.

I push him into his lounge, tip him onto his sofa, straddle his legs and kiss him. I kiss him long and hard. I hold him down as he fights me, and keep holding him after he stops, after he opens his mouth and kisses me back and wraps his arms so tightly around me I can barely breathe.

I can't believe I've never noticed it before: how much he loves me. How much I love him.

But now I know, and there's no going back, no escaping the consequences.

I pull back and look at him sitting there, gasping, his mouth a surprised O, his eyes wide with desire.

"Christ, Doyle, you don't half take chances."

"Pays off, though, doesn't it?" I can't help feeling smug.

He smiles, the first real smile I've seen from him in days. A smile that tells me the storm has passed and the sun's peeking out and the birds will soon be singing in the trees.

And speaking of birds, there are two magpies in Kensington I need to thank. Two for joy indeed.


End file.
